


A Late Night Snack

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Play, Begging, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Pet Names, Riding, Smut, Snacks & Snack Food, Spanking, Tongue Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15368091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: Suga makes vanilla pudding at the ass-crack of dawn and Oikawa can't resist.





	A Late Night Snack

Oikawa rolls over sleepily.

 

The bed is warm beneath him and his limbs are pleasantly heavy with sleep. For a moment he isn’t sure what woke him.

 

And then he feels the empty space on the other side of the bed. Cold sheets and a pillow long since abandoned and Oikawa smiles a little as he wakes up more because he already knows where Koushi has gone.

 

Once he’s convinced himself to roll out of bed and tug on a pair of sweatpants so that he’s not completely nude, Oikawa tiptoes into the living room and peers around the corner towards the small kitchen that’s crammed in next to the front door.

 

Sure enough, a familiar sight greets him, illuminated by the soft glow of the kitchen lights.

 

Suga stands at the island, an empty brown paper bag and a half carton of milk in front of him, humming quietly as he stirs the contents of a large bowl.

 

He glances up when he hears Oikawa approaching, smiles sheepishly, a stray, curled lock of silver hair sticking up comically on top of his head. Rain hushes and hums against the windows in the living room, light and distant and blurring shadows and colors over Oikawa’s bare skin as he crosses the room.

 

"Vanilla pudding again?" Oikawa asks, grinning, watching one of Suga’s pale hands set down the whisk and reach for a spoon instead.

 

Suga hums an affirmative, eyes still sleepy. Oikawa catches them rake over his bare chest once before darting away, but the movement is too small and fleeting to possibly tease Suga with.

 

Besides, as Oikawa rounds the corner of the island to join his boyfriend, he finally gets a full view of what Suga is wearing and all other thoughts vanish from his head.

 

One of Oikawa’s work shirts — a light blue, pinstriped, button-down that has a starched collar and cuffs — hangs from Suga’s shoulders, unbuttoned at the top to bare a bruised throat and collarbones, just skimming the tops of his bare thighs.

 

Oikawa swallows.

 

He can’t ever resist Suga’s thighs. They’re strong and firm and long, fit so wonderfully around his waist whenever Oikawa fucks Suga against the wall or whenever Suga gets to ride him, muscles working and sweat shining in a thin layer over his skin.

 

Suga seems to notice Oikawa pause. He tilts his head to the side to glance at Oikawa out of the corner of his eye and maybe Oikawa is imagining the slight smirk on the other’s face or maybe — and this is the likelier of the two — Suga knows exactly what effect he’s having.

 

But he doesn’t say anything, just mixes the pudding a little more and then moves to put the milk away.

 

Oikawa leans against the countertop, watches the sway of Suga’s hips as he walks to the fridge, bites his tongue as heat curls in his stomach when the other bends over to store the carton on the lowest shelf, the edge of Oikawa’s shirt riding up just the barest bit — teasing at the fact that Suga isn’t wearing underwear.

 

They had just fucked three hours ago — a nice, long session on the bed, Oikawa biting and sucking over old hickies and Suga coming without his cock being touched, letting Oikawa fuck into him from behind, draped over his back, with Suga’s face shoved down into the mattress.

 

Suga had done so well for him, mewling and writhing beneath him, begging so perfectly for Oikawa to spank him.

 

It had been rough and messy and perfect, blooms of red staining Suga’s pale skin, Oikawa scratching lines down the other’s back as he thrust into the wet, hot heat of him and Suga bit into a pillow.

 

And already Oikawa can feel that burn of want again, already his mind is turning to thoughts of bending Suga over the kitchen table, of eating him out while Suga claws and scrabbles at the slick surface and whines for more.

 

_"Get a grip, Tooru,"_ he tells himself. _"It’s four in the morning and you both have work tomorrow, remember?"_

 

Suga returns, eyes bright now, the sleep gone from the curves of his shoulders.

 

Oikawa turns his attention to the pudding.

 

"Is it ready yet?" he asks. Now that he thinks about it, he is kind of hungry. The sugar will be good for a late-night snack.

 

"Five minutes to set," Suga answers, smacking Oikawa’s hand away when it inches closer to the spoon.

 

"We could just eat it now," Oikawa suggest, shuffling a little closer, but Suga slides the bowl out of reach, gives Oikawa an innocent smile.

 

"Or we could just wait four minutes and thirty seconds more," he quips.

 

Oikawa smirks.

 

"Being smart are we?" he asks, but Suga doesn’t snark back like he’d been expecting.

 

Instead, before Oikawa can blink, a spoonful of vanilla pudding is being held inches from his nose.

 

"Here," his boyfriend says. "I guess you can have a bite."

 

Oikawa raises an eyebrow.

 

"Mmm, what’s the catch?" he asks. Suga never gives in that easily.

 

Suga furrows his brow. "No catch," he answers. His voice is the epitome of clueless, his pretty eyes clear.

 

Oikawa hesitates a second longer, but then he parts his lips.

 

The pudding is cold, sweet, perfect if not a little runny because it hasn’t set fully yet, but Oikawa only gets a bit on his tongue.

 

The rest drips down the right side of his neck, down over his collarbone.

 

Suga smiles.

 

"You-," Oikawa starts because Suga obviously did that deliberately, jerking his hand to smear the pudding over Oikawa’s bare skin.

 

"Oops," Suga chirps, eyes bright. His smile is wicked. "One second, let me find a napkin."

 

The lights in the kitchen are dim but that does nothing to hide the smattering of old and fresh bruises that bloom beautifully over Suga’s pale skin as he turns to put the spoon in the sink, a side of Oikawa’s dress shirt slipping off of one shoulder.

 

_"Fuck,"_ Oikawa thinks. His stomach tightens at the sight, a fresh wave of arousal burning over his skin.

 

It doesn’t help at all that he has a good inkling about where Suga is headed with the pudding "accident", that he’s pretty sure Suga’s in the mood to play — despite both of their eight-to-five jobs. All of those teasing talks of kitchen sex that they’ve been having recently seem a little closer now, a little more palpable — Suga showing off his marks only adds to the tension.

 

Those bruises are _his_ marks. They’re the ones he’s spent countless hours biting and sucking into Suga’s perfect skin, the ones that leave Suga writhing and gasping for something more, pupils blown and filthy, sweet pleas pouring from his lips.

 

Suga turns back around.

 

"You might just want to go clean that up yourself," he says, tilting his head and looking for all of the world as if he didn’t just deliberately spill it on Oikawa. "Or I could just -"

 

Before Oikawa can blink, Suga is up close and personal, the soft, sweet smell of his hair — some new shampoo that smells like oranges — invading Oikawa’s senses, his gorgeous hazel eyes large and bright.

 

Suga places a cool hand over Oikawa’s bare left shoulder, just inches above his quick pulse. And then he breaks eye contact to lean in and _lap_ at the pudding on Oikawa’s skin.

 

_"Fuck work,"_ Oikawa thinks as soon as Suga’s tongue meets his neck.

 

Suga’s licks are slow, languid, his tongue is rough and wet and hot, and Oikawa bites back a small moan.

 

And when Suga laps and sucks his way down Oikawa’s skin, sinks his teeth into the sensitive juncture of Oikawa’s neck and shoulder, Oikawa doesn’t hesitate a moment longer.

 

He doesn’t bother biting back his groan as sharp pleasure lances through his stomach, doesn’t stop his hands from dropping down to cup Suga’s ass.

 

When his fingertips ruck up Suga’s shirt and meet smooth, bare skin, Oikawa bites his tongue.

 

_"Fuck,"_ he thinks for the second time. Suga isn’t wearing any underwear after all.

 

Suga hums at the touch, but doesn’t look up from lipping the last of the pudding up, just shivers and jerks when Oikawa gives his ass a firm squeeze.

 

All sense of sleep is gone now because all Oikawa can understand are the sounds Suga is making, the heat of bare, perfect skin under his fingertips — all he can smell are oranges.

 

Oikawa cuts straight to the point.

 

He runs the fingers of his right hand down the cleft of Suga’s ass, pushes in between his cheeks and strokes his index finger over Suga’s hole.

 

Suga breaks away then, pink lips parting on a breathy moan, face flushed.

 

Oikawa does it again, circling around the sensitive skin slowly, relishing the perfect look on Suga’s face as he pushes back into Oikawa’s hand, eyes dark and hazy.

 

Suga looks so good for him like this, the collar of the dress shirt sliding down to bare the long, marred expanse of his throat, the beginnings of his chest that are similarly covered in bites and hickies — old and new.

 

Oikawa can see the eagerness in his boyfriend’s eyes.

 

"You like that?" Oikawa murmurs lowly. He’s already hardening in his sweats, wants to feel Suga clench around his cock again so bad that he has to take a breath and remind himself to go slow. He knows Suga likes it best when Oikawa draws it all out, makes all of the pleasure and pain last just a little bit longer. Suga likes being torn apart slowly, begging when he’s a desperate, sloppy mess for Oikawa to fuck him.

 

He steps back, lets go of Suga so that they’re no longer touching anywhere.

 

Suga whines, takes a step forward, but Oikawa holds a hand up.

 

"Take it off," he orders, keeping his voice steady, even, firm.

 

Suga swallows visibly, throat working, gold eyes darkening further at the command, eyelashes fluttering. Oikawa’s shirt just barely skims him mid-thigh, displaying long, slender legs and the obvious fact that Suga is already half-hard.

 

Suga only hesitates a moment longer. Then he grabs the hem of the shirt and pulls it up and over his head, lets it drop in a whisper to the linoleum kitchen floor.

 

Heat shudders again over Oikawa’s skin, lingers deep in his bones at the sight.

 

Suga is gorgeous — smooth skin blemished in plum and lilac blooms, in red, fresh bite marks, the tip of his cock already leaking pre-cum between his lovely thighs, silver hair ruffled around his flushed, beautiful face as he waits for Oikawa’s next words, star-fire eyes burning dark and heavy.

 

Oikawa swallows. His heart is hammering against his chest and arousal flushes down the back of his neck.

 

"Do you remember your words?" Oikawa asks, focusing on what’s important before they get too far. He knows Suga does, but they always ask each other depending on who’s in control. It might not always be necessary, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

 

Suga nods quickly.

 

"You have to say them out loud, baby," Oikawa urges, waiting patiently. "I need to hear them."

 

"Green for keep going, yellow for slow down, red for stop," Suga recites dutifully. He licks his lips, the briefest flash of bubblegum pink from his tongue.

 

"Good boy," Oikawa praises, satisfaction rumbling in his chest. "Now, bend over the kitchen table. Don’t touch yourself, hands up on top."

 

Suga moves, follows Oikawa’s directions so that his stomach and chest are pressed to the hard, wide surface, hands obediently where Oikawa can see them, his fingers curled against the wood. He takes his time doing it, bending over slowly.

 

_"Shit,"_ Oikawa thinks as his dick twitches at the picture of Suga’s bare ass up and facing him.

 

It would be so easy to finger him now, use the lube that they kept hidden under one of the couch cushions to loosen Suga up for him, to fuck him from behind and jerk Suga off at the same time, hard and fast and messy.

 

But another part of him already knows what he’s going to do.

 

Oikawa enjoys this just as much as Suga does — the foreplay, the tension, the buildup until they’re both too desperate for release to think straight.

 

"Tooru," Suga whines, voice muffled from his head being down, buried in his arms. "Hurry up."

 

Oikawa smirks, thoughts broken.

 

"Mmm, I don’t think good boys are supposed to give orders," he answers, getting close enough to trail a soft finger down Suga’s spine.

 

Suga shivers, pushes his ass back more. "Sorry," he mumbles.

 

"Sorry, _what_?" Oikawa presses, pausing with his index finger pressed to the second knob up on Suga’s spine above his hips.

 

"Sorry, master." Suga’s voice is perfect, is already needy to the point that Oikawa can already imagine what it’ll sound like when Suga’s really begging.

 

"Good boy, so nice hearing you say it the right way," Oikawa coos. "What do you want Koushi? Be good and tell me what you need."

 

Suga moans quietly, shudders.

 

"Want you to fuck me," he murmurs, pushing back again so that Oikawa’s finger slips from his back. "Want you to fuck me hard and fast, on my hands and knees on the floor."

 

Oikawa’s heart pounds harder, heat rushing to pool in his stomach. He forces himself to take another deep breath, keep his voice steady.

 

"I might if you keep being good," he replies, considering whether he wants to ask Suga to beg to be spanked again. It’d be perfect to do here, so easy to use his hand to make red bloom gorgeously over pale skin, to have Suga count each one until he was gasping and crying to be touched elsewhere.

 

But Oikawa has a different idea.

 

Suga is quiet as Oikawa gets to his knees behind him, remaining dutifully patient. Oikawa smiles a little at how obedient Suga’s being tonight.

 

"No touching yourself," he reminds him, listening to Suga’s breathy, little noise of affirmation. "Or I’ll stop."

 

And then he wastes no time in doing what he had been yearning to do earlier.

 

Using both hands, Oikawa spreads Suga’s cheeks fully, hears his boyfriend inhale sharply at the sensation of cool air hitting him before he leans in and drags his tongue from perineum to cleft in one, strong lick.

 

Suga shudders fully, makes a sound halfway between another gasp and a groan, jerking.

 

Oikawa’s chest swells with satisfaction at the reaction, so he does it again, slower this time, making sure to pause around Suga’s hole and apply the barest bit more pressure with his tongue.

 

"Fuck," Suga moans loudly, jerking again, pushing back against Oikawa’s face. "Fuck, Tooru."

 

Oikawa smirks again. If there’s one thing Suga loves most, it’s being eaten out. And Oikawa has had lots of time to practice on him, knows exactly what keeps Suga on the tips of his toes, knows what leaves him a babbling, incoherent mess.

 

The faint, synthetic taste of lube lingers on Oikawa’s tongue, left over from earlier, but he doesn’t intend to use any now.

 

"I’m going to get you loose and desperate just doing this," he murmurs, pinching the tender skin of one of Suga’s cheeks between his index finger and thumb. Suga jumps at the sensation. "Going to fuck you with my tongue until you’re begging to ride my cock."

 

"Please," Suga whines, keening. "Please fuck me."

 

Gone is the teasing, mischievous minx from earlier. Suga is the picture perfect image of needy.

 

Oikawa can see his cock hanging heavy between his legs, already fully hard.

 

"Of course, baby," he answers, shifting to get more comfortable on the cold, hard floor. "Anything for such a good, pleading boy. Now stay still."

 

He wishes that he could see Suga’s face, could see the dark, heavy eyes, the parted pink lips and the rose-colored flush that Oikawa knows spreads all of the way down his chest.

 

But this is good too.

 

_"Try to stay upright,"_ he almost wants to tease. But he’s done enough talking so he readjusts his grip on Suga’s ass and leans back in.

 

Another bottom to top lick has Suga moaning again, his ass warm and wet against Oikawa’s tongue. Oikawa does it again and again, never stopping for long around the place he knows Suga wants him to touch most, keeping the swipes of his tongue firm and changing pace to keep it interesting.

 

It’s not until Suga is moaning louder and rocking back into Oikawa’s mouth that Oikawa stops, pulls away to lick his lips and give Suga’s ass a sharp swat.

 

"Stay still, baby," he reprimands. "You’ve been doing so well for me so far, such a needy little pet, so perfect and desperate and moaning to be fucked, to have my tongue in you. You wouldn’t want me to stop, would you?"

 

Suga’s only response is a strangled moan. Oikawa spanks him again, watches red blossom over pale, pale skin and swallows thickly as his own sense of arousal grows by the second.

 

"What was that?" Oikawa pushes. "Use your words, baby."

 

"I don’t want you to stop," Suga whines, breathing hard. "I’ll be still, I promise. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you ask me to. Just want you to fuck me, please fuck me."

 

Oikawa licks his lips. "Good boy," he praises. He wastes no time in returning his mouth to Suga’s ass — the other deserves a little more for his pretty begging and Oikawa can feel his own dick rousing in his sweatpants. He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to hold out with the foreplay, not if Suga keeps this up.

 

When Oikawa traces his tongue around Suga’s hole, when he finally edges the tip of it in — still teasing as much as he can — Suga jerks and swears. Oikawa hears the faint scrabble of his nails on the wood of the kitchen table and decides to push a little more, inching his tongue farther past the tight ring of muscle and reveling in the high keen Suga gasps out.

 

This, this is what Oikawa strives for, he thinks, as he begins to slowly fuck Suga with his tongue and his boyfriend’s thighs begin to shake. He lives for the pretty, little noises Koushi makes when he’s being pleasured in ways only Oikawa knows how to do, loves listening to his inhales and exhales every time Oikawa uses a pet name or spanks him, loves watching _his_ marks bloom like flowers over Suga’s beautiful, smooth skin.

 

" _T-Tooru_ ," Suga half-cries, hiccuping on broken breaths when Oikawa begins to tongue-fuck him in earnest, going as far as he can even though he knows it still isn’t enough. 

 

His own stomach is beginning to tighten, heat building up under his skin and making his cheeks hot. He keeps his focus on making Suga feel good, on turning him into a blabbering mess until Oikawa can’t stand the sound of Suga’s moans and keens of pleasure anymore.

 

_"God,"_ Oikawa thinks, his heart racing in his chest. All sense of teasing has left his system, replaced with a desperateness that matches Suga’s.

 

As soon as Suga is loose and slick, Oikawa pulls away, rucking his own sweatpants down desperately with one hand and guiding Suga to the floor with the other.

 

"How do you want it, baby?" he gets out past the knot in his throat. His skin is burning, his dick aching, and Suga is stunning — his bottom lip swollen from where he’s been digging his teeth into it, pupils blown wide and his mouth partly open from being breathless. "You want me to fuck you from behind, like earlier? Or do you want to ride me?"

 

Suga licks his lips, once, twice, before he manages to answer. He hasn’t come yet but Oikawa knows it will take just the barest bit more to tip him over the edge.

 

"I want to ride you," the other finally gets out and Oikawa’s heart leaps in anticipation.

 

"Come here, kitten," he answers, adjusting himself until the cool tile of the kitchen floor is against his bare skin, curling his fingers around Suga’s hips to pull his boyfriend on top of him.

 

Suga takes a shuddering breath, places his palms against Oikawa’s bare chest and adjusts himself until the tip of Oikawa’s cock brushes against his asscheeks.

 

They both hold their breath as he sinks down slowly, using a soft hand around Oikawa’s dick to guide himself. Oikawa braces his feet against the floor and groans between his teeth, too much sensation — and at the same time, not enough — lancing through every nerve ending in his body.

 

Suga is hot and tight and perfect, fits down around Oikawa in one long, smooth movement that has both of them biting their tongues to keep quiet, chests heaving with laborious breaths. Oikawa digs his fingers tighter into Suga’s skin, keeps him steady and tries to keep from thrusting up when Suga raises his hips just a little, getting used to the feeling.

 

"Okay?" Oikawa breathes, meeting Suga’s half-lidded gaze and searching his golden eyes for any signs of discomfort. They haven’t tried fucking this way too often, without lube, and he hopes he’s prepped the other enough in his haste.

 

Suga nods, biting his lower lip. "I’m okay," he gets out through teeth gritted with need. "Can I…?"

 

Oikawa reaches up and threads the fingers of one hand through the hair at the back of Suga’s head, pulls him down to kiss him deeply, nipping and biting, his ribcage swelling with affection. "Go ahead, baby," he whispers against Suga’s lips. "You’ve been so good for me, so wonderful."

 

Suga kisses him back and then sits up, flushed even more than before. He readjusts his hands on Oikawa’s chest and begins to move.

 

They both groan then, loud and unabashed, the sounds echoing back in the small kitchen, mixing with the hum of the refrigerator.

 

Oikawa digs his fingers back into the edges of Suga’s hipbones, tries to keep his own hips down from fucking up into his boyfriend as Suga begins long and languid rolls of his body, his nails digging into Oikawa’s chest.

 

Suga’s whining, little soft noises that border on whimpers that make the edges of Oikawa’s vision go blurry with need, that turn his skin to fire and his mouth to ash. He wants to touch every inch of Suga’s skin, wants to imprint the lines of his body and the angles of his bones and the heat of his skin into his head forever. But all he can do is run his palms flat down Suga’s stomach, feel the rapidness of his breath as his chest heaves, drag his nails down the hard line of Suga’s back and groan at the tight, hot heat of him as Suga rolls his hips down more desperately.

 

“God,” Oikawa moans, throwing his head back and arching up when Suga deliberately squeezes and then pulls almost all of the way off before slamming back down. When he does it a second time, keening for sure this time, Oikawa can’t help the sudden jerk of his hips as he drives up, flames bursting through his bloodstream.

 

Suga is perfect above him, face and neck flushed and long, dark eyelashes damp and the slope of his pale stomach contracting with every grind and thrust of his hips. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips swollen and pink, his throat working as he makes noises that Oikawa knows he’ll remember tomorrow at work, that he’ll remember for the rest of his life.

 

And it doesn’t take long, not for either of them, Suga grinding his hips down with practiced ease, sweat turning his bangs a shade darker as they stick to his forehead, Oikawa watching him move and telling him how beautiful he is, how perfect he feels, how much he loves him.

 

Oikawa’s stomach is tightening, his toes curling, before he knows it, as his hips jerk up to meet Suga’s downward thrusts, as his boyfriend throws his head back to bare the long, elegant line of his throat and moans sweetly.

 

"Fuck, Kou-," Oikawa just gets out before he comes, white-hot heat flashing behind his eyelids, his movements stuttering with his high.

 

Suga follows shortly after, one hand working himself over until he slumps over onto Oikawa’s chest, breathing hard.

 

For a few moments they lie in silence, letting their heartbeats slow down and the pleasure slowly bleed away to be replaced by loose-limbed satisfaction. Oikawa shifts to gently ease out of Suga, the other whining softly at the movement before he settles back against him, nuzzling into the side of his neck.

 

Oikawa closes his eyes, runs slow fingers through Suga’s soft hair, listens to someone slam an apartment door a floor up and to the low rumble of traffic on the street outside. Even though the floor is cold and hard, Oikawa can’t deny that he’s perfectly happy right here, that he’d stay here forever if he could, with Suga in his arms, soft and completely trusting.

 

"Kou," he murmurs, tracing down the wings of Suga’s shoulder blades.

 

"Hmm?" Suga answers, shifting again.

 

"I love you," Oikawa answers, eyes fluttering open. He thinks he can feel the shape of Suga’s smile against his skin.

 

"I love you," Suga replies.

 

Oikawa lets the words sink in a little before he speaks again. "Also, I think we can officially cross 'kitchen sex' off of both of our bucket lists."

 

Suga huffs out a laugh. "I didn’t realize that was a life goal of yours," he teases, sounding more awake. Oikawa hums, only half-serious, and continues stroking Suga’s hair. The aftershocks of pleasure are buzzing through his veins still, like when he has too much champagne.

 

Quiet descends once more until Suga laughs again, quiet but there, the two of them sticky, sweat cooling on their skin.

 

"What?" Oikawa asks, curious, studying a crack that fissures over the kitchen ceiling and letting his lips brush Suga’s temple.

 

"I was just thinking," Suga answers, still giggling, "that I made vanilla pudding to get non-vanilla sex."

 

He nuzzles closer and Oikawa snorts at the lame joke.

 

"You’re a loser," he tells him, inhaling oranges and moving to stroke down Suga’s spine with his fingertips.

 

"Mmm, true," Suga agrees. "And you’re a nerd."

 

He doesn’t give Oikawa time to respond before he peels himself up and off of Oikawa’s body unexpectedly, too fast for Oikawa to protest and pull him back down.

 

"I’m gonna go shower if you want to join me," he says, getting to his feet and stretching. Oikawa watches with a soft smile on his face, still lying on the floor, the protests dying on his lips because a shower sounds better. "And then I’m taking the day off and sleeping until noon."

 

Oikawa hums in agreement, sits up. "Sounds perfect," he says.

 

"Oh, and Tooru?" Suga asks, pausing in the living room with Oikawa’s work shirt in his hand. He waits for Oikawa to look up before smirking and his grin makes Oikawa flush hotly. "Next time, I’m bending _you_ over the kitchen table."

**Author's Note:**

> day 1 of oikawa rarepair week 2k18: firsts/lasts
> 
> *muffled sounds of shame* I don't usually write smut so please bear with me but I hope it's at least easy to read and congrats Oikawa, this is your b-day gift from me
> 
> also big, big thanks to my wonderful, amazing [@fairylights101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101) for giving me some helpful tips and much-needed touch-ups<33 pls go check out their work, they're an absolutely phenomenal writer
> 
> and as always you can visit my blog [here](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/) and check out some of the other OiSuga fanfic I write!!


End file.
